


The Wizards' Wands

by mainstreamFragment



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mainstreamFragment/pseuds/mainstreamFragment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the Malfoy name lost all the respect it held in the wizarding world. Harry’s role in Voldemort’s fall helped him become an auror, but it didn’t help him find someone who could overlook his reputation long enough to fall for the man behind the name. The lack of a love life leaves Harry heading to The Wizards’ Wands one night that a certain blonde-haired Malfoy happens to be working. [Still a WIP]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. incipit historia

HARRY PULLED his bangs down over his scar, doing his best to hide it from plain sight. His eyes had long since lost their emerald shine they used to glow with, and were now something closer to moss-covered pebbles hidden in a long forgotten brook. In fact, most of his features had dwindled in youth as of late. Everything from the way he held himself to the way his jaw line jutted out with the prominence only adulthood could provide in a man left no question that Harry James Potter was no longer a young lad.

But unlike many of his peers, Harry didn’t have a spouse to come home to. Sure, he was one of the finest aurors in Europe, but that didn’t change things for him. Granted, he had plenty of women and men trying to impress him—often on a daily basis—but it wasn’t really _him_ they were after as much as his name. Harry often grew tired of pretending he was content with the way his life was unfolding, being perpetually viewed as a celebrity in the wizarding world with a handful of friends and a legion of followers. And on nights like these, when the ear-splitting silence filling his home became too much to bear, he often took matters into his own hands.

He had heard rumors of a new strip joint opening up within the past few months: “The Wizards’ Wands” his coworker had called it. There was evidently a huge commotion regarding the club, because the majority of its dancers were male. Regardless of what the tabloids might twist out of a visit, Harry was in the mood for something other than memories of near-forgotten flings and sloppy teen romances to help assuage his loneliness.

He pulled himself away from the mirror and walked toward his closet, searching for a set of slim fitting robes that would show off how well his body had filled out. Of course, the chances of finding someone of interest at this new place were remarkably low, but it never hurt anyone to look as attractive as possible. Green buttons and embroidery complimented the soothing brown of the robes Harry pulled around him. He pulled on dark, chocolate leather boots that Hermione had bought him back when she and Ron were on their honeymoon. He walked back over to the mirror to inspect his appearance. If he was someone else who was interested in guys, he’d find himself bloody attractive. But his opinion didn’t matter when it came to meeting Mr. Perfect. Harry tried to fix his hair, but regardless of his efforts, it continued to jut out at awkward angles as if he had just awoken. Harry huffed out a sigh as he reached for his wand. He had mastered wandless magic by his second year out of Hogwarts. Still, in a worst-case scenario where he needed to cast spells with all the potency he could muster, the wand would help channel his focus into the spell; but for times like tonight, his wand just served as a source of comfort when he had to endure traveling in public. He stepped out of his room, and walked down the short hallway and down the stairs, each step practically echoing around him. As he pulled the door shut behind him, Harry flicked his fingers at the door, casting a set of protection charms that would keep any sane individual out.

Harry slid his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around his wand to try to help calm his nerves. When one is visiting a controversial strip club for gay men, the chances of a stress-free journey are unlikely, and Harry was doing his best to fortify his nerves for anything that might happen. To Harry’s surprise, it just so happened to be a remarkably stress-free journey, save the stress he was causing himself by anticipating a commotion over the media’s discovery of his sexuality. He had never tried to conceal it, but he also didn’t broadcast it either. But being seen outside the club would leave no doubt it anyone’s mind that The Chosen One happened to prefer men. Harry rushed inside the building, trying his best to go unnoticed.

The room he found himself in was fairly stylish. Through a crowd of men and women about his age, he saw in the center of the room a massive bar, composed of four bars wrapping around shelves of alcohols from all across the world. Bar stools lined the bars on each side. On the far side of the room from Harry was a stage, clearly designed so that the maximum number of customers could get a good view of the show. The stage had a section in the center that extended forward across the floor. The man currently on the stage was younger than Harry, probably enough so to only barely be legal. Overstuffed chairs surrounded the stage, and most of them were already occupied with guests watching the young man gyrate around the stage.

Harry walked over to the bar and waited for the bar tender to approach him. When the older man’s gaze caught Harry’s, Harry glanced down at the bar. “Gin and tonic, please,” he said only loud enough for the man to hear him over the music playing over the club’s PA. Harry pulled out the bar stool he was standing closest to and sat on it. Despite Harry’s previous certainty that the bar stool couldn’t possibly be as uncomfortable as it looked, the bar stool was, in fact, as uncomfortable as it looked. Harry grimaced at nothing in particular as he waited for the bartender to prepare his drink. Harry had nearly convinced himself to leave because this idea was stupid, but the bartender returned just as Harry was about to stand to bolt out the door. “That’ll be five sickles and a knut,” the man shouted over the music.

Harry took a deep breath through his nose and sighed as reached into his pocket, tossed the money on the bar as he grabbed his drink, and walked away toward the stage. There were four chairs left unoccupied, only one of which that didn’t have someone sitting on either side of it. Harry made his way toward that particular chair. The young man on the stage was shimmering from the thin layer of sweat covering his body. He continued to dance for a few more minutes before the music shut off and he began jogging around the stage to collect the clothes he had shed throughout his routine, as well as any loose money the patrons had thrown on stage during his performance. The volume of the music on the PA dropped as a voice began, “I hope you enjoyed the show. Coming on stage next is the crowd favorite: Hawthorne Grey.” The voice clicked off and the music crescendoed back to its previous volume.

As the bass line of the next song began thudding from the speakers, a man began making his way onto the stage. He was wearing a white, button-down shirt and a pair of skin tight leather pants that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Every movement of his body was synchronized to the rhythm of the music; his body exuded so much power: the movements sudden and strong and yet so remarkably sensual. As the man rolled his torso in time to the thudding music and let the motion continue down to his pelvis, he began working his shirt off. His torso was gorgeous; it wasn’t the perfectly chiseled six-pack like the young man before him had had. The blonde man on stage was very slim, yet it was evident that he was pure, lean muscle. As his body flowed and swayed in time to the music, Harry watched Hawthorne’s muscles flex and tease over themselves. A sheen of sweat began building on the dancer’s body. The man was remarkably talented, that much was for certain. Harry sipped at his drink as he watched this so-called Hawthorne continue his routine. The music grew louder, the melody of the song picking up intensity and complexity and evidently cueing Hawthorne to drop down onto all fours.

The energy of the song continued to build, the music getting louder and Hawthorne’s movements becoming more exaggerated. Harry crossed his leg over his lap in an attempt to keep the effects of Hawthorne’s gyrations from being evident. Suddenly, with a loud crack, it seemed as though the PA had messed up. The music stopped playing and the only noise came from the buzz of the crowd. Hawthorne froze in his position, his body leaning back at an odd angle causing Harry’s eyes to travel down the lines and angles of his body, past his nipples and belly button, down the faint v-cut, straight to the bulge that seemed to be pointed right at Harry. Just as suddenly as the music stopped, it started back up again with just as much ferocity. Hawthorne practically slid out of his pants in a way that seemed to defy all physical possibilities, kicking his pants off the stage in Harry’s direction, and continued his routine.

Harry definitely approved of Hawthorne’s choice to wear a grey jockstrap. Hawthorne continued his routine, spreading his knees apart, his torso and hips sliding closer to the stage as the muscles in his legs bulged in a manner that Harry could only describe as gracefully humping the stage. But Harry swore on Merlin’s name that he had never seen a man move in such enticing ways. The routine only lasted for a couple of minutes, but Harry felt like it lasted for hours. Every movement Hawthorne made was so complex, his entire body rolling in a manner that made Harry’s mind fuzzy in ways that nearly felt magical.

When the routine ended, Hawthorne ran around trying to collect his clothes. His eyebrows furrowed together as he looked around the stage. Harry, assuming Grey was looking for his pants, pointed in front of him where the leather pants had fallen. Hawthorne nodded and Harry could have sworn he saw something in those grey eyes that looked painfully familiar, something that reminded him of a boy with grey eyes he cared about back in his days at Hogwarts. And if he remembered correctly, that very boy with grey eyes happened to have a wand made from hawthorn wood. Harry couldn’t help but gasp when the pieces completely fell into place.

The announcer introduced another dancer to the stage, but Harry couldn’t force himself to pay attention. He was still caught up in trying to decide if he was drawing too many conclusions—too desperate for something more that he couldn’t see past his fantasies into reality—or if he was right. Harry noticed one of the velvet curtains flanking the stage rippling. As he glanced up, he saw Hawthorne walking toward him. _Those grey eyes; the blonde hair; that bloody smirk. There’s no way he’s working at a place like this, but…it_ has _to be him_. As Hawthorne approached, Harry’s heart began to beat faster and it felt as if the collar of his robes were growing smaller.

“Hey,” Hawthorne shouted over the pounding music, “Thanks for letting me know where these were instead of stealing them like most of the creeps around here would!”

Harry tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Uh, thanks. I mean—no. Uh, you’re welcome?” Harry shook his head and chuffed quietly. When he looked back up, Hawthorne was staring at him like he was an idiot. Or perhaps a madman. “Sorry, I was wondering if maybe…Is your name Draco?”

Hawthorne’s eyelids drew apart and his eyebrows drew closer together. He began to back away and quickly shouted over the music, “N-no. I don’t see what it matters what my name is.”

Harry quickly threw his hand out, wrapping his fingers around Hawthorne’s wrist. “Please, I think you might be someone that I used to be…acquainted with.”

Hawthorne shook his head as a look of concern crept over his face. “Look, I don’t know who you are but I think you should leave.” He tried to tug his arm away from Harry’s grip, and Harry loosened his fingers immediately, allowing the other man’s force to successfully recreate space between the two. Hawthorne began to back up, refusing to look away from Harry as if he was some predator.

“Wait, just…If you’re who I think you are, I’d love to talk somewhere else.” Harry felt like his ribs were collapsing into his chest, suffocating him with each additional breath. The music was still blaring across the PA system, but Harry no longer took notice.

Hawthorne shook his head again. “If I don’t know your name, why should you have the right to mine?”

Harry’s hands were shaking, but he quickly brought his hand up to his bangs and pulled them aside. As he revealed his scar, he saw something flash through Hawthorne’s eyes, some emotion that he couldn’t quite read.

“Potter, I’m sure you’d love to gloat about my demise to some low-class stripper, but I haven’t the time for that.” Harry knew almost certainly at that point that he was indeed talking to Draco Malfoy. The very way that Hawthorne turned so gracefully to walk off was practically a trademark of Draco’s.

“Wait!” Harry shouted as he pushed himself out of the chair. Draco continued to walk toward the curtain and only stopped when Harry grabbed his wrist again.

“What? What could you possibly want, Potter?” Draco’s face was flushed, his hands balled into fists. He pulled his arm away from Harry and crossed them over his chest. His chin jutted out defiantly, as if Harry had done something to piss him off. _On second thought, grabbing his arms so many times was probably one of my worse ideas._

“I, uh—” Harry ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, not quite able to force himself to look Draco in the eyes.

“Want to brag about defeating the Dark Lord? Maybe tell me how much money you’re getting now as the world-renowned Auror Potter? Perhaps remind me that I’m just scraping by on a few knuts a day? And I swear to Merlin, if you laugh at that choice of words, no power in the world will stop me from slaughtering you.” Harry finally met Draco’s gaze, only to find burning fury directed straight at him.

Harry felt like a piece of shit, considering he left Draco with the impression that everything he just suggested was in his nature. Massaging his fingers on the nape of his own neck, Harry tried to offer up the most legitimate, friendly smile he could and sheepishly said, “Actually, I just wanted to tell you that you were incredible up there.”

Draco’s mouth curled downward into a sort of frown as his hand worked its way to the back of his head. “Uh, thanks,” he said just barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

Harry offered up his best smile, though he felt like it was just an awkward, toothy monstrosity. “So would you maybe be up to fetching a drink elsewhere when you’re done tonight?”

Harry could see something that resembled doubt in Draco’s eyes, but after a short pause, Draco nodded. “Yeah, sure. Why not. I get out of here in two hours. I’ll meet you by the central bar.” With that, Draco walked back toward the velvet curtain and Harry may or may not have watched the way the muscles in his back and legs flexed as he walked away.

+++

DRACO PRACTICALLY ran to the first dressing room he could find open. He always felt disgusting after a show. It never helped when someone he knew was out there, especially when that _someone_ happened to be Potter. Why did that bugger have to show up?

Surely Potter had someone back wherever he called “home” who was waiting for him. Potter might have been awful when they were children, but there’s no way he would cheat on someone. Draco ran his fingers through his bangs as he inspected his reflection in the mirror. _Surely_ Potter wasn’t single; who in their right mind _wouldn’t_ want to be with Potter? _Except, maybe those of us whose lives were made a living Hell by the bastard_ , Draco reminded himself begrudgingly. Draco pulled his fingers through his hair—it had gotten way too shaggy compared to how he usually liked it. He could nearly pull it up into a hair tie at this point. He decided that he would definitely get it cut next time he had the opportunity.

Draco walked over to the corner where he had left his age-worn backpack and pulled a set of clean clothes out. He yanked the jock strap off, feeling disgusting—if not from the sweat, then from the memories associated with the embarrassing piece of clothing—as he tossed it into the front pocket on his backpack.

Draco tossed the bag over his shoulder and went toward the back rooms, where he knew one of his best paying clients would be waiting. He had no idea who the client was, but they showed up every week at the same time and they tipped well. After Draco found the correct door in the poorly-illuminated hallway, he pushed it open. The first room was nothing special: a small, square space for the workers to store their belongings as they “performed” for the guest. The second room always bothered Draco. Three of the walls were lined with charmed windows that served as mirrors on the performer’s side, but he knew the clients sitting on the other side could see him perfectly fine, if the tips were anything to go by.  Draco took a deep breath in through his nose before he pushed the door open to enter what felt like a mirrored cage.

He knew some people enjoyed performing like this, but he hated it. It made him feel dirty and used. Maybe he’d enjoy it if he felt less like a caged animal. He went through the motions of stripping his clothes off, trying to look as sensual as possible to secure his tips. The man—if the grunts Draco occasionally heard and the hands that sometimes slipped money through the slot at the bottom corner of the front mirror were anything to go by—definitely enjoyed Draco’s performance. Draco hated it—every second of it was just a reminder of how far he had fallen because of his father’s stupid desire for power. He finished the routine almost half an hour later; he pulled his clothes back out into the tiny square room and pulled them back on. Only three more routines and then he’d be done for the night. Three more perverts watching him take his clothes off and pretend to be horny before he’d be able to collapse into bed for the night.

 _No, I have to talk to Potter first._ Draco let out a sigh, wishing he had never agreed to stay out later than necessary, especially with someone like Potter.

***

NONE OF the other acts caught Harry’s attention in quite the way that Draco’s had. On the plus side, they all served as a decent way to pass the time before Draco was finished with whatever else he was being paid to do. But after Draco’s performance, Harry found the cracks in the leather of the chairs to be more interesting than most of the guys who came across the stage. Not that they weren’t talented in their own ways; one of the performers was flexible enough to stand on his hands and manage to bend his back so he could touch his head with his ass, which was _certainly_ impressive in its own unique way. But even the theatrics failed to catch Harry’s attention as well as the large clock hanging above the central bar managed to.

Twenty minutes shy of one o’clock, Harry stood and began making his way toward bar. He ordered another round of gin and tonic, tossing the coins on the counter as soon as he ordered.  Harry began drinking it as soon as the glass hit his hand, hoping it would somehow manage to calm his nerves. He knew that Draco had only agreed to talk, but that was something, right? After all, Draco had agreed even after Harry watched his… _performance_. Hell, if Draco had been the one ogling at Harry’s ass in a jockstrap, he probably would be too bloody embarrassed to even look at Draco again. Harry’s focus snapped back to reality as he felt his own face growing warm, though he wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or the alcohol that was causing him to blush. _Probably a mixture of the two_ , he decided as he took one final gulp of the drink before setting the glass down on the bar.

When he looked back up, he saw Draco heading his way. He looked very different from before, but still just as incredible. His shoulders were broader than Harry remembered, but his body tapered down to his waist, where long, graceful legs began. Draco was still wearing a white, button-down shirt, but the leather pants had been replaced with a pair of close-fitting denim jeans. Without realizing what he was doing, Harry licked his lips as he pushed himself up off the barstool.

As Draco pulled a light leather jacket over his arms, he nodded at Harry, though his face showed how little he still trusted Harry’s intentions. Even if Harry hadn’t had spent years reading body language as an auror, that much would have been obvious.

“So do you have anywhere in mind?” Harry asked as he closed the gap between himself and Draco.

Draco simply shrugged. “It’s your game; surprise me.”

Draco’s response was practically dripping with venom, but Harry simply tried to smile in return. “Does tea sound good? I know a place just down the street if you do like tea.”

Draco’s face lit up a bit as he huffed out air through his nose. “Yes, Potter. I do enjoy tea. I haven’t become a _complete_ barbarian.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply that you—” Harry stopped talking as Draco threw a pretty scalding look his way. “Yeah, sorry. Ignore that,” Harry offered as he turned to walk toward the main exit. Harry had no idea if Draco would follow him or not. At this point, he’d be content enough regardless of Draco’s choice, though he’d certainly prefer him to be following. To Harry’s mild surprise, Draco was only a couple of steps behind him when he turned around to check.  Harry would never admit it, but he did feel a light weight lift off his chest when he realized Draco _was_ following him.

When the two got to the door, Harry pushed it open and turned right, walking briskly toward Tillman’s. The two walked in tense silence that was as thick as the cold air surrounding them as they walked toward the little café. To Harry’s dismay, the lights were already out and the door was locked.

Draco stood behind Harry, a sardonic laugh quietly coming from him. “Well, congratulations on not realizing it would be closed by this time.”

Harry felt the blood running to his face as he pulled his robes tighter around him to keep the chilly night air away. “Forgive me, I was a little distracted by pounding music and a certain Malfoy who was acting like he’d rather see me dead than alive.”

“Oh, and which one would that be?”

Harry looked back at Draco, not sure of how to interpret his change in tone. It was lighter, perhaps still slightly offensive or aggressive, but definitely light-hearted compared to his earlier tone. If the smirk on his face was anything to go by, Draco was less upset at Harry than he had been back at The Wizards’ Wands. Instead of continuing the jesting, Harry tried to focus on an alternative. “To be honest, I don’t know if anywhere else worthwhile would be open.” He paused, unsure of whether he should make the offer he was considering or not. “Or, uh…we could always go back to my place and I could make us tea? It’s just around the corner from here.”

Draco’s smile dropped, his entire expression changing to something Harry couldn’t quite read. “And what would I have to gain from going to Auror Potter’s house?”

Harry shrugged, not really sure how to respond to that. “A warm cuppa and an opportunity to catch up with an old friend?”

“Is that really what you would call us? ‘Friends’? I wouldn’t have thought, considering the number of times you threatened me.”

Harry dropped his eyes to his own shoes and rubbed his fingers along the tip of his wand that was still tucked up his sleeve. “Well, maybe I’m a different person from then? Maybe I was just a scared boy who needed someone to call an enemy who _wasn’t_ one of the most powerful, feared wizards alive? Maybe I’m sorry for everything I did wrong to you and _would_ like to be friends?” Harry couldn’t bring himself to look back up at Draco, and after what felt like hours of silence—but was surely mere seconds—Harry shook his head. He began to walk toward his home, offering his apologies, “I’m sorry, I’ll just—” He stopped talking as warm fingers wrapped around his arm.

“Potter, I’m…I think I would like that.”

Harry still stared at the cobblestone road beneath him. “Like what?”

“To try out that whole ‘friends’ thing?” Harry practically heard the offered smile in those words. When he looked up, he saw Draco staring intently at him. His mouth was curved upwards into the slightest smile. The hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s arm was tucked into his jacket pocket.

Harry swallowed, his hands tightening into nervous fists. “Yeah,” he said as he ducked his head. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He felt like he should do something more—like the moment that he and Draco finally managed to put aside their differences and try to become friends should be marked by something greater than a simple nod exchanged in a dark street. But he ignored that urge and simply began walking toward his house. Draco pulled his own hand back away from Harry’s arm, but he followed closely behind Harry.

Harry flicked his fingers toward his front door, dropping the protection charms he had cast earlier in the night. He wrapped his fingers around the cold metal of the door knob, but hesitated before pushing it open. Without realizing it, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth and was worrying it into an angry red as he glanced at the ground back behind his shoulder just in front of Draco’s feet. “I’m sure this won’t meet your standards, but uh, it’s home.” Harry let out a quiet puff of air, watched the vapor form a light fog in front of his face, and then pushed the door open. The scent of old wooden floors drifted across the back of Harry’s senses, but he was so used to the scent after years of living in the house that he didn’t pay any mind to it. He turned his head and motioned toward the door, causing it to swing shut behind Draco.

“Oh, Auror Potter knows wandless, silent magic, does he?” Draco was probably the only person in this hemisphere to manage to make it sound like wandless, silent spells were child’s play.  Regardless, there was still an air of jest to his tone, one that Harry probably would have mistaken for arrogance back when the two still ran around the halls of Hogwarts.

Harry turned back around and began walking toward the kitchen. “Well, it certainly does give me an advantage when I’m working.” Harry paused to take a breath in before quickly adding, “Take your shoes off if you want, or not. I don’t mind either way.”

Draco didn’t respond, but Harry heard a set of quiet thuds. Draco followed up behind him, jogging to close the distance between the two in the hallway. Harry half-turned to look at Draco as he approached, but as Draco tried to stop, his socks proved to be a challenge and he kept sliding. Harry, not sure of what else to do with Draco approaching, simply spread out his arms so that their bodies would collide and keep Draco from running into a wall or falling. Draco slammed into Harry much harder than expected, nearly knocking both of them to the ground. Harry chuckled, but Draco’s face was blood red and he looked mortified.

“Oh come on, Draco.  Even you aren’t too prim and proper to slide in your socks sometimes,” Harry jested as he turned the corner into his kitchen.

Draco chortled behind him as Harry heard what sounded like Draco pulling out one of the chairs to sit on. “You’d be surprised, Potter, to see just how far I’ve fallen from back in the days when we hated each other.”

As Harry went about putting the tea on, he continued to worry his lower lip between his teeth. “Did we ever hate each other?”

“Don’t try to play that game. Merlin be damned if you don’t acknowledge the fact that we used to hate the very sight of each other.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I like to think of what we had as maybe a healthy rivalry?”

Draco laughed in a way that could only be described as patronizing. “Potter, you accused me of more offenses than Dumbledore and Snape combined.”

Harry’s fingers wrapped around a bit of loose hair near the nape of his own neck. “Well, in my defense, Snape never punished you for breaking the rules unless another professor was around.”

“I’ll give you that. Regardless, you know that if you were talking to Ron or Hermione back in those days, you would have said you hated me.”

Harry massaged his fingers in small circles on the back of his neck. “Maybe.” He slowly worked his eyes up to meet Draco’s gaze. “But that was also a long time ago. I know I did wrong by you, and I’m sorry for that.”

Draco chuffed as he shook his head. “Potter, you have no idea how much you’ve affected me, do you?”

The kettle began to whistle, distracting Harry from the immediate conversation. He pushed his chair back and offered a quick, “Pardon me.” Harry handed Draco one of the cups of tea as he approached the table again. Draco had sat in silence since he last spoke. “So you say I’ve affected you a lot.” Draco nodded. “Care to explain?”

Draco laughed sardonically. This was clearly a sore subject for him. “Where should I even begin? I mean, I know you never tried to harm me—after Voldemort’s fall, at least—but you still affected me indirectly. My father, foolish as he was, caused the Malfoy name to be destroyed: the power of our family name crumbled with Voldemort’s power. Of course, I have my father to blame more for that than you, but you still played a role.” Draco paused, his fingers running furious circles around the edge of his cup. Harry had no idea what he should say, so he sat in silence staring dolefully at Draco.

Draco took a harsh breath in through his nose before continuing. Harry noticed the skin around Draco’s eyes growing redder, his eyes glossier, but Harry had no idea what he could do to assuage Draco’s pain. “Since then, it has been hard. My father squandered what money we had left in his crazy, desultory attempts at reacquiring even the faintest drop of power. Mother did her best to support him, but in the end, we both left him to rot in his own madness—as if we could do any differently.” Draco’s eyes grew glossier and glossier by the second, and Harry knew tears were imminent. He had no idea what he should do, and instinctually pushed his chair back, walked behind Draco and offered his hand. Draco’s eyebrows furrowed together and his head cocked slightly to the side as he looked at it, but Harry simply gestured forward some more, hinting at Draco to take it.

When he did, Harry pulled him up and wrapped his arms around him. Initially Draco stood stock still, his free arm plastered along his side, but he quickly gave in to the hug, wrapping his arms around Harry’s back. Draco let his chin fall down to rest onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry heard Draco sniffling in an attempt to fight off the tears. It was a failed attempt, if the slight dampness pooling on Harry’s shoulder was any indication. Harry ran his hand up and down Draco’s back, hoping the gesture would serve as some form of comfort. “Hey, I’m sorry. Let’s just put off that tea, okay? Come on; let’s go to the sitting room.”

Draco nodded his head just enough for Harry to notice the motion before he guided Draco by his hand to the sitting room where a large couch was waiting for them. Harry sat on the left side of the couch, and Draco quickly chose to sit on the opposite end. As he sat, Draco continued, his voice shakier and slightly quieter than it had been before. “My mother died in what the press called an ‘accident’ just two years ago. I’m sure you remember it; it was the so-called ‘case of the decade’: ‘Ex-Death Eater Meets Death Early'.” Draco practically spat out the headline as he glared downward toward his feet at nothing in particular.

Harry nodded, trying to piece together the proper thing to say. “Yeah, I remember that. They wouldn’t let me work that case, even though I had asked. They said it would be a conflict of interest.”

Draco cast a questioning look toward Harry. “And why would you want to be involved?”

If Draco had intended his question to sound so accusative, Harry ignored it. “Maybe I realized how stupid I had been back at Hogwarts and wanted to somehow get on better terms? Maybe I realized we were both just scared, confused boys who happened to be the most important pawns on opposite sides of the same war? I didn’t have a sudden realization tonight that I had messed up; it’s been bothering me for years now.”

Draco’s eyes squinted slightly as if he was searching Harry’s body language for something more, something to confirm what Harry had just admitted. _Or maybe he’s looking to see if I was lying_ , Harry thought. After a few seconds of heavy silence, Draco nodded slowly, his gaze falling back to the space between his feet. “I don’t suppose you’re supposed to talk about cases with low-life pedestrians, are you?”

Harry shrugged. “Hypothetically speaking, if I felt like the aurors who worked the case had personal biases, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you. I also wouldn’t be allowed to tell you that I agree with you that most of the evidence pointed toward your mother being murdered.”

The look Harry got from Draco was hard to describe, but it resembled something like sorrowful thanks. As Draco’s eyes drifted away from Harry’s face, Draco’s fingers worked their way up to the jacket he still had on.

“I know you probably don’t think it means much, but I truly am sorry. Your mother really was a wonderful woman. At the end of the day, she really only cared about you. I wish there was something I could do to get her justice.”

Draco scoffed as he shook his head. “Thanks, but justice won’t do anything at this point besides maybe getting the family name in the papers one last time.”

Harry lifted his hand, but stopped when he realized that rubbing Draco’s leg might be going too far too soon for something as simple as showing sympathy. He simply settled for nodding, unsure of what else would be considered appropriate. The two sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, the mood in the room practically bearing down on their shoulders. Harry watched Draco’s face throughout the silence, noticing the way his face managed to show so much when he wasn’t trying to mask his emotions. After watching Draco chuff and then shake his head a few times, Harry tried to shift the discussion to a lighter topic. “So, uh, The Wizards’ Wands: how’d you find yourself working at a place like that?”

Draco shook his head, a look of disgust coming across his face. “I went to Gringotts one day and removed the last ten sickles to my family’s name. I knew I had to do something, and that excuse of a business was the only place left to get a job.”

Harry felt himself blushing, feeling embarrassed that he met Draco somewhere he evidently didn’t hold in high esteems. “Well, I thought you did really well on stage.”

Draco scoffed, this time throwing Harry a look that almost looked like pity. “The last person who told me that was some old man whose age hasn’t had two digits for nearly a century.  So tell me Potter, what brought you to that _fine_ establishment?” The last two words were _dripping_ with sarcasm.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe my _wand_ needed some attention?” He couldn’t help but grin at the terrible play on words.

Draco smirked, “Potter, that innuendo is atrocious enough on the neon signs. Please don’t perpetuate it in our mature discussion about your lack of a sex life.”

Harry definitely blushed this time, not sure quite how to respond. He opened his mouth in an attempt to dignify the insult with a response, but only managed to work out a few noises that failed to actually resemble any words Harry—or any living creature, for that matter—knew. Draco pushed himself up off the couch and smiled down at Harry. “It’s getting late and I have to work tomorrow night; I really should head out. It was nice talking to you.” Draco walked toward the front door as Harry remained stunned on the couch. Draco might as well have just charmed Harry with a stupefy charm _._ To be sure he hadn’t, Harry clenched his fingers into fists and relaxed them.

After hearing the door shut, Harry slowly pushed himself up onto his feet and walked toward the kitchen. He poured Draco’s mostly-untouched tea down the sink and took his own into the sitting room. He stared out the window, watching tiny snowflakes begin to dust the streets in a soft white.

+++

DRACO SHOVED his hands in his pockets as his body convulsed from a cold chill. The night air was far colder than he remembered it being when he was walking with Potter; the snow drifting down around him only made the cold seem more severe. Draco was struggling to figure out what exactly was going on between the two of them. The camaraderie was extremely unexpected, but Draco couldn’t really say he disliked it; in fact, it was kind of nice. He hadn’t really had anyone he could go to with _anything_ since his mother died, and breaking down in Potter’s kitchen wasn’t even _half_ as embarrassing as it should have been. _It actually felt nice_ , Draco thought as he turned the corner in the hallway. He found the door to his apartment and pulled his wand out to unlock it.

He walked in and pushed the door closed behind him, trying his best to ignore the scent of mildew and dust that flooded his nose. He had spent weeks trying to convince himself it was simply what old buildings smelled like, but after being in Harry’s house and smelling the warmth of the age-worn wood, he couldn’t convince himself anymore. Something about the scent of Harry’s home had simply smelled like a home; this…this smelled like an old dump someone had died in and forgotten. “Fitting place for someone like me,” Draco whispered into the stale air. He locked his door, threw his backpack on the ground, and then walked through the main room to get to the shower.

If he collapsed into a ball beneath the pounding water that had only been warm for the first five minutes of the shower, no one would know. They also wouldn’t know that he stayed curled up under the frigid water for another half-hour doing his best not to cry. He eventually climbed out and toweled off. He made his way to the ratty couch against the wall in the main room of his apartment and pulled a scratchy cover over him, doing his best to make himself comfortable on his temporary bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mild references to gore appear in this chapter

 “HARRY JAMES Potter! What in Merlin’s name did you do?”

Harry glanced up from the door and down the street as he heard what was undoubtedly Draco’s voice. He smiled, hoping it would look innocent enough. Not that he was guilty of anything. Or anything bad, at least. Harry enjoyed watching the way Draco still managed to walk somewhere between a strut and a glide when he got angry, exactly the same as it had been back during their time at Hogwarts. The graceful gait didn’t quite match the new, boyish haircut—so close cut on the sides it was practically a buzz cut with longer hair on the top of his head that lead to a row of short, spiked bangs—but Harry liked the combination.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Draco.”

“I’ll be damned if you don’t! I went to withdraw my payment and I found one hundred galleons just lying around my family’s old vault! One hundred galleons that were. Not. There. Before!”

Harry shrugged, trying to still feign a look of innocence. “You have no proof that it was me.” He began to walk inside his home. “You coming in?” he asked as Draco stood somewhere between pissed and dumb-founded on the street.

Not wanting to shout at Harry through a closed door, Draco followed him inside. “I don’t need proof! You’re the only person I know wealthy enough to just go dropping that much money off! Besides, you practically just admitted to it!”

Harry laughed. “So what if I did?”

Draco’s hands were clenched into fists at his side. “I don’t want to be your pity party, Potter! I can damned well earn my own money, even if I have to sell my bloody heart to do it!” Draco’s voice grew louder and louder, his last statement finishing at a shout.

“Well, you barmy fool, did you ever think that whoever gave you that money might have just wanted to help out a friend for the sake of helping?”

Draco shook his head passionately. “No, I didn’t! Because not everyone needs your help, Potter! You were destined to save everyone from Voldemort, not from an empty wallet!”

Harry really couldn’t understand why accepting his money was such an issue. “Look, Draco, I _did_ give you that money. But what else would I do with it?”

Draco interrupted, “Spend it o—” but Harry was quick to resume, cutting off Draco before he could get too far into his argument.

“No, just listen. I have nearly everything I want and nothing else to do with it. Maybe I wanted to help you? Maybe what you said last week really hit home and I remembered what it was like when I was a kid and fighting just to get the money for a shirt I wanted or hell, even a candy bar.” Harry stepped toward Draco, whose mouth was slightly ajar in a dumbfounded expression. “But maybe,” he began, “just maybe, I wanted to give you enough money so you could take a break this weekend, not worry about money, and spend the weekend with me.”

Draco opened his mouth further, but for once, he had nothing to say. He stood staring at Harry, unsure of how he was supposed to react to what Harry had just told him. “Yeah, okay. And let’s say I _do_ take the weekend off: what incredible plans do you have?”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk; if Draco was asking what his plans were, then he was at least considering the possibility of taking the weekend off. “Well, I could always show you this place I really love to go to after the war was over and I had no idea what I was supposed to do with my life.”

“Really? A walk down Potter’s Memory Lane? That sounds nauseatingly sappy.” Draco’s words still held the same potential for insults they did back at Hogwarts, but his tone—that surprisingly happy, light tone—made all the difference.

“Maybe if you’re really lucky, I’ll take you to Honeydukes and buy you a chocolate frog.”

“Potter, I do hope you know that I hate you right now.” Draco was smiling in a way that Harry hadn’t seen yet since seeing reuniting with him at The Wizards’ Wands. Harry stared at Draco’s lips, the way they had a slight sheen to them after Draco ran his tongue over them. He looked up into Draco’s eyes, and was about to lean in closer when Draco seemed to finally realize just how close their bodies were. Draco took a quick step back toward the door and grabbed the door handle.

“Uh, so…this Saturday. Meet here, right?” Draco asked as he opened the door.

“Yeah, that sounds great. When you get here, knock first and don’t try to open the door.”

“Should I even ask?” Draco jested and another smirk crept across his face.

“Protection charms I worked up. They’d only give you a nasty shock the first time you try to open it, but it only gets worse from there.”

“Potter, you might be the only person I know arrogant enough to think anyone would care enough about you to try to break into your house.” Draco played with the door handle beneath his fingers as a quiet laugh escaped his throat.

“Gee, why would anyone ever want to do something to Europe’s highest profile auror? How silly of me.” Harry couldn’t prevent the smile that crept across his face and even into his words.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed as he finally began to walk out the door. “How silly of you.”

Harry stared at the door where it had closed behind Draco. He wasn’t really sure what had just happened, but if he understood it all correctly, Draco accepted the gift _and_ agreed to take off work to spend time with him. That was certainly a highlight after his day at work. Some old witch he had never heard of showed up at his office sobbing so intensely he couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell him. After half an hour of trying to get her to calm down, the woman finally told him that she had found a dead man outside her house. Harry notified the rest of the department and then followed her immediately.

When he got there, he definitely understood why the woman had been so disturbed. The man had been maimed, nearly beyond recognition. Much of his muscle and skin had been shredded. It looked like a wild animal attack, but to be this far into the city, it would have had to have been a _very_ odd circumstance. He couldn’t find any evidence to suggest magic was involved, but the lack of a blood trail and the pattern of the blood splatter made it evident that he had likely been murdered at this spot. It had been one of the longer days Harry had worked in the past few years, and seeing Draco at the end of it was definitely a nice turn of events.

Harry walked up to his bedroom, peeling all of his clothes off when he got there, only replacing them with a pair of loose-fitting sweats. He made his way back to his kitchen, where he began brewing tea to try to calm his nerves completely. He eventually settled on his couch with an old book, flipping on the television that he couldn’t quite convince himself he didn’t need. He never got any interesting channels, but the background noise was nice to have.

+++

DRACO PULLED his jacket around him tighter. He didn’t really know what to do after deciding to keep Harry’s gift. Draco didn’t want to tell Potter, but a hundred galleons was _far_ more than a weekend’s worth of wages for Draco. Hell, he’d be lucky to get a hundred galleons in an entire week of work. His regular client usually only tipped him with two galleons; he was lucky if anyone else even gave him a sickle. Draco could get by on what he had if he called in sick for the next month if he wanted to. _Wouldn’t that be nice,_ Draco thought as he kicked a bit of snow from in front of the door to his apartment complex.

He needed every last bit of money he could get, so he’d keep going. He’d give himself this weekend off—he had already told Potter he’d meet him—but he couldn’t afford to get lazy just because Potter had given him a gift. As much as he hated working at the club, there was nowhere else that he could work with his family name. Despite everything that made the job so miserable, he could at least escape the name while he was working. Of course, Draco had considered the possibility of assuming a new identity, possibly moving somewhere on the globe where the Malfoy name had never been heard, but it would be suspicious if a wizard just showed up out of nowhere with no money, and even more suspicious if a muggle showed up unaware of how a world without magic worked.

Draco walked up the stairs, passing by some man he hadn’t seen before—not unusual, considering that most people only rented these apartments until their heart’s clock ran out or luck was finally on their side in the financial department. Draco unlocked the door and tucked his wand back in his pocket as he pushed it open. When he closed the door, his attention was drawn to the only window in the room by a beak rapping against the window. A large, brown owl was sitting on the window ledge. Draco hurried over and unlocked it, entirely unsure of who would be sending him anything. Draco pulled it open, and the owl leaned forward just enough to drop the parchment into his hand, all the while remaining on the windowsill. Draco broke the wax seal on the parchment, quickly unrolling it in his hands.

_Draco,_

_I apologize if I’m beginning to meddle too much, but I was in Tillman’s today and overheard the owner saying she could use an extra hand around the café. I know you don’t enjoy working at the club very much, so I just wanted to let you know._

_Hopefully this was good news,_

_Harry_

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Of course Potter would already be trying to save Draco from the current circumstances in his life. Not even four days since their reunion and Potter was already back to playing the role of the savior. Not that Draco could really complain; he knew Potter wasn’t trying to offend him—there’s no way Potter would ever think to offer the help as an insult like the people Draco’s parents used to associate with would have. It was all very Gryffindor of Harry, but it was meant as nothing more than a friendly gesture. Draco ran his finger over the parchment’s edge as he thought; he knew it was only proper to reply with a message to let someone know you got their message, but he wasn’t exactly in a situation where he could afford a section of parchment and the ink necessary for the formality. He couldn’t write back without buying supplies, so he shooed the owl away.

As he watched Potter’s owl fly off, Draco ran his fingers over the parchment, trying to decide what to do with this new information. Deciding he had far too much experience working at the club for his preference, working at the café could be a nice change of environment. Draco cast a quick charm on himself to minimize whatever odor his apartment might leave soaked into his clothes, and began his journey down to Tillman’s to see if he could apply for a job.

Draco quickly locked his apartment before making his way back to the small café he remembered Potter trying to take him to that first night they had reunited. Draco pushed the less-than-appealing memories of the circumstances that led to their meeting aside, and tried to remember that stupidly brilliant blush that had exploded across Potter’s cheeks when he realized Tillman’s was closed. As Draco pondered over the details of that night, his feet continued to propel him steadily toward his destination. He came to a hesitant halt, his diffidence weighing him down like shackles around his ankles. Draco tried to force himself to look away, but he couldn’t help but scrutinize his own reflection in the café’s window.

“Screw that,” Draco whispered to himself as he forced his body forward toward the shop’s door. Draco walked up to the bar of the café and took a seat at one of the exceedingly tall wooden chairs. He could have sworn he felt the weight of glares on the back of his neck. Despite his instincts begging him to desert the idea of working at somewhere like Tillman’s, Draco clenched his hands into reassuring fists, and leaned forward. He stared at the discoloration his own force was causing in his skin until he heard someone in front of him clearing their throat. His gaze quickly shot up to the cordial face of an older woman, probably somewhere around sixty years old. She was a rather short woman, probably no more than a meter and a half tall, and had long, silver hair which was braided down the back of her head in a ponytail that reached just beyond her waist.

“May I help you?” she asked in a quiet yet powerful voice.

“Um…” Draco began, unsure of the best way to approach the subject at hand. “Yes, maybe.” He cleared his throat. “A friend of mine told me there was a need for another worker around here. Who should I contact for more information?”

The lady squeaked out what might have been a chuckle before quickly responding. “You’re talking to her. Tabitha Tillman; I’m the proud owner of this café. Might I ask your name?”

Draco cleared his throat again, startled by his own lack of foresight. _Shit, you can’t tell her your actual name._ “Hawthorne Grey,” he quickly provided.

The woman’s gaze seemed different, but Draco tried to ignore the suspicion in her stare and offered up his most charming smile. “Well, _Hawthorne_ ,” she said the name as if testing it out on her tongue, “If you are willing to work the hours, I’d be glad to have ya’round here.”

Realizing his back was curving, Draco slightly repositioned himself in the chair. “Well, I would be able to work pretty much any time up until the evening.”

“Would seven in the mornin’ till five suit ya’ fancy?” 

Draco nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That would be splendid.”

Tabitha flashed a toothy grin at Draco. “When can you start?”

“Does tomorrow sound good?”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, that sounds wonderful.” Draco pushed his chair back, quickly pushing it back up before he left, and practically ran out the door to go wallow in the joy from how incredibly things were starting to work out for him.

***

HARRY RAN his fingers through his disheveled hair. Another body had been found this morning, only a few houses down from where the previous body had been found. Harry would never be quick to say a murderer was on the loose, but when he saw the body, it was in a very similar state as the man the witch had lead him to. Harry inspected the body, trying to find any traces of magic—for any clues of spells, potions, or magical artifacts affecting the body at all, pre-, peri-, or post-mortem—but every test he knew came up negative. The body was seriously maimed, strips of the flesh torn through like the material on a child’s old, forgotten rag doll. There was a suspicious lack of blood splatter around the body. There was some sort of spike puncturing the victim’s torso between the second and third ribs on the left side, and later inspection revealed it came through to the back. The spike had punctured into the skin, through the left lung, and back out again, but there was no blood splatter on any walls near the body.

Harry knew this had to be a dump site, unless there had been something behind the man that had been moved after he was impaled by the spike. But if this was a dumpsite, how in Merlin’s name would someone get a body that was this severely mangled into the village and drop it off in front of house without _someone_ noticing them? Harry had tried checking for any signs of teleporting the body, but he couldn’t find any traces of magic to suggest the body hadn’t been physically dropped off. But no one he talked to seemed to have noticed _anything_ out of the ordinary until they heard a child screaming this morning. The poor little guy had been going to a friend’s house to play when he nearly stumbled over the body. That sort of experience almost always left a child traumatized. Harry made a mental note to check back up on the kid at some point later on. Until then, he’d have to watch for any other vics in the area. He couldn’t do much with two bodies, but with three—with three, Harry would definitely be able to start a full scale investigation for a serial killer.

Unable to do anything else and his shift already over, Harry pulled his outer robe on over his green button-down shirt and his form-fitting pants and began making his way toward Tillman’s for a drink. The air wasn’t quite as cold as it had been over the past week or so, but it still held a certain chilly bite to it. When Harry pushed the door to the small café open, he was greeted with one of Tabitha’s trademarked grins.

“Harry! How are ya’ doing?” she asked joyfully as she scurried from behind the counter to hug Harry.

“Now that I’ve seen your lovely smile, Mrs. Tillman, wonderful.” He bent down to kiss the woman on the forehead as he hugged her back.

“You’re always too sweet,” she chuckled as she walked back behind the bar. Harry took a seat in front of her, only two away from the nearest customer. “What can I get you today?”

Harry sighed, unable to maintain his façade of peppiness. “Can I get snakeweed tea with a bit of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey?”

Tabitha’s smile dropped into a sympathetic frown. “Another bad day?”

Harry let his eyelids fall closed as he nodded. “Yeah, one of those days that makes me regret that I promised Hermione and Ron to quit drinking as much,” he mumbled, hoping it was quiet enough that the woman sitting nearby wouldn’t overhear their conversation.

“Don’t worry, Babe. We’ll fix it right up. I’m sure you’ll love it; my new assistant has got nothing but good reviews from the customers.” By the smile on her face, Harry would have sworn she was talking about her own child’s accomplishment. She scribbled Harry’s order down on a napkin—and if she ‘accidentally’ added a slice of treacle tart to the order, Harry wouldn’t have to know—as Harry dropped the payment on the counter in front of Tabitha.

“No, Harry, this is my treat to you,” she said as she pushed the sickles and knuts back toward Harry. She cast a quick charm on the napkin, and Harry watched as it drifted back toward the kitchen where the orders were always prepared. “So do you want to talk about it?”

Harry looked up at Tabitha’s precious smile. He really couldn’t explain how much he loved her; most people in the wizarding world didn’t even know her, but after Harry had left Hogwarts, she was always the one person he could go to when he needed someone to completely forget all of the prophecies and great wars and simply give him incredible advice like he was an just another ordinary wizard. “Well, there’s a case that’s bothering me. I can’t talk about it, but what I can say is that a kid got involved, and I know it’s going to be rough on him.” Tabitha nodded, clearly sensing that Harry wasn’t done talking. “And there’s also this guy. I sent him a message recently, but he never responded, and I think I might have made him mad because maybe I’m getting too involved in his life but I really just want to help him and I think maybe he just—Draco!” Harry called as he glanced up to see Draco coming out of the kitchen with a cup and a platter. Draco’s eyebrows shot up, and he quickly glanced over to Tabitha. Draco almost looked scared for some reason, but Harry couldn’t possibly imagine why. Harry looked over to see Tabitha simply shrug at Draco, and then redirected his gaze back toward Draco to see his face reddening.

+++

DRACO SWALLOWED the ever-growing lump in his throat. _Maybe she’s just waiting till all of the customers are gone before she fires me,_ Draco worried, but despite his traitorous thoughts, he did his best to control his body and keep from dropping what must have been Potter’s order when the man had shouted his name. His _real_ name; the one he hadn’t given his employer. Draco walked over and set the alcoholic tea and treacle tart in front of Potter. He ran his hands down the front of his shirt and did his best to offer a genuine smile to Potter. Harry looked confused, and Draco was certain he’d have to explain the situation to Harry later on.

Potter laughed—at what, Draco had no idea—before he jested, “Draco, you didn’t have to bring out a tart. My day hasn’t been _that_ terrible.”

“Don’t worry, Potter. I didn’t even know this was your order until you shouted at me.”

“In my defense, it was more of a…” Harry paused as he looked toward Tabitha. “What would you call it? A chime?”

Tabitha nodded. “Yes, Dear. I’d say it was a chime.”

Draco glanced at his employer, not sure if her taking Potter’s side was a sign of a new-found dislike for Draco, or if she and Potter had a longer history than Draco knew of. Draco nodded. “Well, I need to get back to work on a batch of pumpkin pudding I was preparing.” Draco made his way back into the kitchen. He heard Tabitha say something to Potter as the doors swung open in front of him to let him into the kitchen. He walked over to the nearly-finished batch of pudding, really only having to stare at it until it finished setting up. He ran the pad of his finger along the edge of the wooden counter, his mind churning with thoughts. _If she fires me, I still have The Wizards’ Wands. I got by on just that; I can just dip into what I’ve been saving and things will be just like they used to be. I can get by; it won’t be impossible. I still have the money from Harry._ “Merlin’s beard,” Draco sighed as he dropped his elbows on the counter top and let his head fall into his hands. “Guess there’s no rest for the wicked,” he whispered to himself, hoping the sound of his voice would help him calm down.

He jumped, nearly knocking the large bowl of pumpkin pudding off the counter, when a small hand fell onto his shoulder. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re not wicked, huh?” Tabitha said from behind him.

Draco forced himself to meet Tabitha’s gaze with his own. “You mean you don’t mind that I lied to you about my name?”

Tabitha shook her head. “No, I hate that you felt like you had to lie to me. But I don’t think you’re a bad person for doing so. You didn’t hurt anyone, and everyone has their reasons to tell a little lie now and then.”

Draco nodded, his heart still racing from the adrenaline that flooded his body at the initial shock of unexpected contact. “Yeah…I suppose you’re right. I am sincerely sorry that I lied to you. It’s usually difficult to get a job with a family name like mine.”

Tabitha shrugged. “I never said I knew your family name. But regardless, every auror isn’t good. Every friend isn’t loyal.” She began walking toward the front of the café, quickly pausing to add, “And not every Malfoy is bad,” before walking through the doors.

Draco dropped his head back into his hands. Despite his best efforts, a tear escaped from the dam of his eyelashes and coursed its way down his face. Draco stood there for a minute or two until he felt like he could trust his hands to stop shaking enough to get back to work.

***

HARRY FOUND himself standing in front of his mirror again, still unsure of how to dress for tonight’s meal with Draco. The two had agreed to meet for a meal, but they hadn’t discussed how to dress. _Because really, who thinks about that? Only silly Harry Potter who doesn’t know the first thing about not-dates_ , Harry complained to himself. He threw the long robes he had just been inspecting toward his bed and went back to his closet. So far, he had only decided on a pair of boxer briefs. Everything else was beyond him. He was getting so frustrated that he simply grabbed for the next outfit he could find. That outfit happened to be a pair of denim jeans and a t-shirt from some band Harry had seen live with Ron a few years back. He pulled the clothes over his body, and went to inspect himself in the mirror. The shirt hugged his chest awkwardly, and the pants felt a bit too tight. _Hopefully Draco won’t think they look_ too _awkward_ , Harry decided as he made his way toward his kitchen.

Harry had prepared a pot of coq au vin and a pan of roasted potatoes, and had left them on the stove with a warming spell to keep them nice and fresh for when Draco finally showed up. The two hadn’t talked since their encounter at Tillman’s, and Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to finally talk with Draco again. Harry walked to his sitting room and thumbed through the few channels he got on his television, doing his best to pass the time until Draco showed up. Harry felt like his entire body had electricity coursing through it, the anxiety and excitement only getting gradually more intense as he waited for Draco. Finally, he heard someone knocking on his door and practically ran to the door. He ran his hands over his shirt in an attempt to smooth it before he dropped the wards and pulled the door open.

Draco looked at him and smiled. “Well good evening Mr. Potter. I have a delivery.”

“Oh, you do?” Harry jested as he stepped back and swung his arm out in a gesture for Draco to come in.

Draco stepped through the doorframe as Harry pushed the door closed and raised the wards again. Draco handed a bag to Harry, and when he looked inside, he saw a small bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey. Harry looked up at Draco, unsure of what to say.

While Harry was looking down, Draco had evidently taken off his leather jacket and put it on a peg near the door. Draco looked a bit worried, but his voice sounded like it usually does. “You ordered some in your tea the other day, so I figured you must like it at least a _bit_ ,” he said as he gestured toward the bottle with his hand.

“Well, thanks,” Harry said as he appreciated the way the light caught in the whiskey and actually looked like burning fire. “I appreciate it.” He looked back up at Draco and smiled. “I’ve got the meal prepared already. It’s just in the kitchen. If you’re hungry, we can eat now.”

Draco nodded. “Yeah, we can eat now. I haven’t had food since noon.”

“Well, I guess we better fix that. After you,” Harry chimed as he gestured toward his kitchen. He followed Draco toward the scent of the food, and may or may not have appreciated the way Draco’s trousers accentuated the incredible curves of Draco’s ass.

Draco pulled out a chair at Harry’s table as Harry walked over to his cupboards to grab a pair of plates and two tumblers. Harry set the glasses and whiskey on the table, handing Draco a plate. “Get as much as you want. I probably made a bit too much, and I don’t like having too many leftovers,” he said as the two made their way toward the food on the counter.

“So you made this all by yourself? No house elves at all?” Draco questioned.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I never felt comfortable having a house elf, even if they volunteered to work for me. I always felt like it was wrong, since they had been _taught_ to want to work, ya’ know? Besides, I always had the time to do all the chores around the house. And I like to think it helped me become a decent cook.”

Draco looked over his shoulder back at Harry. “Well, I guess I’ll be the judge of that last bit.”

After Draco spooned his serving of the food out; Harry followed in suit, and quickly joined him at the table. Harry poured a small amount of the firewhiskey into his tumbler, and offered the bottle to Draco. Draco only filled his glass as much as Harry did. Draco forked a bite of the rooster meat into his mouth, and literally moaned as the flavor burst through his mouth. Harry had to reposition himself to keep a certain sudden change in his body from getting uncomfortable. Draco looked up at Harry, “Potter, that is incredible. I guess you weren’t lying.”

Harry smiled around his bite of roasted potato. “Well, I like to think that I’m still a pretty decent guy who doesn’t lie too much.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, I suppose you’re not terrible.” Again, Draco’s tone could be easily misinterpreted, but Harry could hear a subtle undertone that he had begun to recognize as Draco’s subtle humor. The two finished their meals, chattering back and forth about meaningless things like the weather and outcomes of recent quidditch games. When Draco and Harry finished eating, Harry gathered up their dishes and set them in the sink.

“So, uh, do you want to watch a movie?”

Draco’s head tilted to the side slightly as his eyebrow lifted. “And what’s a ‘movie’?”

“Oh! That’s right! Um, it’s like our photographs, but longer. Muggles make them, but the picture keeps moving for around an hour and a half. Sometimes longer.”

“And some muggle decided to call their version of a moving picture a ‘movie’? Seriously? Potter, it’s things like this that make me question muggles’ general intelligence.”

Harry shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t know who came up with the name. Most muggles don’t even think about it, because they just hear the word from the time they’re born. Besides, they’re enjoyable.”

Draco glared at Harry in doubt.

“Come on, I promise.”

“Fine, but you had better not give me a reason to stop trusting you again, Potter.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at Draco’s admission of trusting him. The two quietly made their way to the sitting room. Draco collapsed down onto the couch as Harry went to turn the television set on. Harry went through his collection of DVDs and found one that he thought Draco _might_ enjoy: a bit of mystery, action, and perhaps a little romance. But Harry reassured himself that the romance plot had nothing to do with his choice.

He made his way back toward the couch as the movie started playing. He fell down beside Draco. The two watched the movie in companionable silence. At one point, Harry looked over and noticed Draco’s eyes falling shut. He pried his attention away from this incredible eye lashes and even more incredible eyes and made himself focus on the movie. A few minutes later, he felt something brushing against his arm. He glanced over and saw Draco’s head leaning over on his shoulder. Harry readjusted and gently tugged at Draco’s shoulder so that his head was in Harry’s lap, and then carefully reached over so he could pull Draco’s legs up on the couch. Harry didn’t pay much attention to the movie after that, deciding instead to pay attention to the way the texture of Draco’s short hair played against his fingers as he ran them in haphazard circles along the blonde’s scalp. Between the earthy scent of Draco and the warmth of his body, Harry quickly found himself drifting off to sleep.

+++

DRACO INHALED a deep breath through his nose as a confusing scent flooded his nose. Old wood, a warm musk, and that addicting scent of mint and sandalwood. _Potter’s house_ , Draco thought lazily, his eyes still too heavy from sleep for him to want to open them yet. He readjusted his head, and quickly realized at some point, he had not only stretched out across Potter, but also had turned so that his face was tucked against Potter’s stomach and his arm was wrapped around Potter’s waist with his hand resting between the back of the couch and the small of Potter’s back. Draco carefully pulled himself away from the young man he had just been sleeping on, doing his best not to wake him.

When Draco stood, he looked at the clock on the far wall and realized that it was already after two in the morning. Draco would need a change of clothes for whatever plans Harry had tomorrow, and he really didn’t want to be any more of a hassle than necessary. Surely Potter would want to go sleep in his own bed instead of on the couch so he wouldn’t wake up feeling like his spine had been replaced by a rusty pole. Draco reached forward and gently shook Potter’s shoulder.

Potter mumbled something under his breath that Draco couldn’t understand.

“Hey,” Draco whispered. “I’m going to head back to my apartment. It’s past two in the morning. Get your lazy arse up to your bed so we can do whatever you have planned out for tomorrow. Also, can I get out of your door from this side without it attacking me?”

Potter’s head flopped around a bit in what Draco assumed was close enough to a nod to be a confirmation of his question. Draco began walking toward the door. “Good night, Potter,” he whispered just loud enough to be heard.

Draco grabbed his jacket as he walked out the door. He made his way home through the frigid air. As he walked past Tabitha’s café, thoughts of how much of a role Potter was beginning to play in his life flooded his mind. As he got closer to his house, a heavy feeling began creeping its way into the back of his consciousness. The feeling got worse and worse as he got closer to his apartment, and he decided it was just the anxiety of returning to his home alone to sleep on an old couch alone. If he had thought about it more, maybe he would have realized the heavy feeling was something more akin to fear, like the feeling of being watched by a pair of unwelcomed eyes. If he had taken the time to be more introspective and realize that, it would have led him to notice the pair of eyes watching him from the shadows for the last fifteen minutes of his walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any errors that are probably scattered throughout this chapter. I don't have a beta for this piece, and I prefer to just churn out a full rough draft before I go back and edit and revise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: if you are claustrophobic and triggered by textual depictions of tight spaces, please do yourself a massive favour and skip over the large block of italicized content in the beginning of this chapter. The same goes if you are triggered by textual depictions of painful events and mild references to gore.

DRACO CLIMBED the stairs to his apartment, and attempted to shove the key into the lock a few times before he successfully found his target in the dark. He pushed the door open, and walked into the old apartment. He quietly closed the door behind him, not wanting to wake any of his neighbors, locked the door, and turned to stand with his back to the door. _Did that really happen?_ Draco thought as he stared forward into the darkness. _Did I really just walk back from Potter’s house after falling to sleep on top of him?_ Draco couldn’t help but chuckle at himself, still mildly confused as to what exactly was going on between himself and Potter. _Whatever; I’ll take it,_ Draco decided as he walked toward the kitchen to grab a cup of water.

One of the cabinet doors was left open, probably the result of years’ worth of shifting foundation and rusting hinges. Draco pushed it closed and walked over to grab a cup. He quickly drank the water before making his way over to the couch. He settled in place, and quickly fell to sleep with thoughts of Harry and the mysterious day ahead of him when he woke up.

_Quiet pings and clanks echoed through the darkness, as if a hundred leaking faucets were dripping out onto a network of pipes. Draco heard toe nails scratching along the cold, cement floor. A sickening, rusty smell mixed with the scent of mildew, and the odor seemed to be charging at Draco’s senses. He tried to push himself up to his feet, but his back hit something only an inch or two up. He fell back down, his weight distributed across his hands and knees. “Hello?” Draco tried to shout, but the only noise that came out of his throat was a hoarse wheeze. He coughed around the unexpected pain as he began to feel around the immediate area with his hands._

_His fingers brushed against something wet and warm. He pulled his hand to his nose, and nearly retched when the awful, coppery smell of blood flooded his nose. He frantically wiped the cooling liquid off on his pants. Draco felt around the walls and ceiling surrounding him, and after finding the only way open was in front of him, began crawling forward through the darkness, his hands teasing over pieces of glass and Merlin knows what else. He felt like the space around him was getting smaller, though he had no way of knowing._ Probably just the fear, _he reassured himself. His heart jerked in his chest as he thought he heard someone—or something—hiss out his name, just barely louder than the dripping water and scratching nails. “Malfoy,” it repeated again, definitely louder—or possibly closer—this time. Draco’s heart began to beat faster and harder. He wanted to call for help, wanted to find a way out of this place, but he couldn’t convince himself to try to call out again. Something deep in his stomach told him he was better off staying silent and hoping whatever was in the darkness with him wouldn’t find him._

_“Malfoy,” the hissing voice repeated again. It was definitely getting louder, and if the time between echoes was anything to go by, closer. Draco went to crawl forward, but realized he was somehow flat on his stomach, the space only large enough to allow himself to slowly wiggle his way forward through the darkness. “Malfoy!” The voice had picked up an angry tone. It was behind him! Whatever it was, the voice was behind him, and Draco knew it was getting closer. He didn’t know how he knew, but it the source of the voice was definitely behind him._

_Draco bit his lower lip, doing his best not to let out a cry of fear. He didn’t even dare breathe, in case the noise would betray him and give away his location in this labyrinth of darkness. But it was behind him! Getting closer. Draco bit his lip harder as something ran over his hand._ Probably just a mouse, and your fear isn’t letting you think straight, _he reasoned._ Damn it; don’t freak out! _Behind him; closer. “Malfoy!” Draco squirmed, trying to put space between him and the voice. “Malfoy! You won’t escape from me!” The voice was louder and deeper, the walls practically shaking with the intensity of the bellowing tone. Draco felt his chest heaving with imminent sobs. The floor hurt now. Shards of glass everywhere. Shredding through his clothes and skin. But he had to escape. Had to keep pulling himself over the sharp shards. Hurt himself or get away. He had no choice! No one was going to save him; he had to do it himself!_

 _“Malfoy!” The voice was growling now, the noise making his ears hurt as much as his bleeding body._ Please! Please leave me alone! _But the words wouldn’t come out. Only sobs as the pain ran through his body. The space was smaller now; too small to even move in. It was getting smaller. The walls were closing in. Glass and pipes and mice and Malfoy, all being crushed into one. Draco couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. “I found you, Malfoy!” A cold hand wrapped around his ankle, yanking him back. Draco started screaming, his throat hurting is if glass was working its way down to his belly. “Help me! Somebody help me!” His body convulsed as pain ripped through him. The walls crushed tighter. “Please!” he sobbed, hoping someone was there to save him. The space was getting even tighter. Darkness swallowing him. Hand yanking him back. Leg ripped out of socket. Ribs crushed by wall. Copper. Copper scent everywhere. No. Blood. Pain. Screaming. “Malfoy!”_

Draco shot up to a sitting position, a shout escaping his throat as he woke from the terrible nightmare he was just having. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself as he shivered. A few phantom tears remained on his cheeks and hung in his eyelashes. The nightmare had been so realistic; so awful. “Fuck, it’s cold in here,” Draco whispered as another cold chill ripped through his body. As he huffed out a quiet sigh, the vapor in his breath climbed upward in a visible puff. He looked up to the window, realizing it had swung open at some point in the night. He pushed himself off the couch and went over to the window. _I bet Potter never has this problem with his house_ , Draco thought morosely as he swung the window closed and latched it so he’d not have to worry about the old building failing him again. _Maybe one day, I won’t have to worry about this useless, cheap apartment._ He trudged back to the couch and collapsed down onto it. The age-worn springs groaned beneath his weight as he shifted around trying to find a more comfortable position. But after that nightmare, nothing felt comfortable. Draco felt like he was on the verge of falling into an anxiety attack, unable to shake the shock and fear from the terrible dream. He lay on the couch for what felt like hours before he finally managed to drift off to sleep again.

***

HARRY STRETCHED as he finished the slow transition from being asleep to waking up. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hand. _When did I get up here?_ he asked himself as he realized he had somehow made it up to his bedroom. He remembered Draco agreeing to watch a movie with him, but the rest was a bit of a haze in his mind. Harry pushed himself up so he could slide out of the bed, and paused as his feet hit the floor. The rest of the night flooded back to him: Draco had drifted off at some point, Harry had pulled him over into his lap, and then he had drifted off himself at some point. Then Draco left for some reason. Harry’s heart fluttered a bit at the thought of Draco leaving because Harry had been too forward, but he calmed himself as he recalled the gentle way Draco had left. Draco had called him a lazy arse, but he had clearly been joking. At least, he had been joking based on what Harry remembered.

He ran his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair as he made his way down the hall to his bathroom. The entire house felt warmer this morning, so Harry figured he and Draco were in for a warmer day. Certainly not a _warm_ day, but definitely warmer than the miserably cold days they’d been dealing with lately. Harry did his best to clean up, deciding he could get away with not shaving for the day. After all, if everything went according to plan, Draco would be the only person seeing him for the next 24 hours or so. Harry left the bathroom to go get a set of clothes on, and began to prepare for the day. He went to his closet to search for a backpack Hermione had cast an extension charm on a few years back. Harry wanted to make sure that Draco was as surprised as possible when he saw Harry’s true plans for the day. Not that they _weren’t_ going to Lochlass Lake; he just hadn’t told Draco the full extent of the plans. After Harry had finished packing the supplies that were in his room, he made his way downstairs to his kitchen, packing enough food for him and Draco to share. Harry had no idea what Draco preferred, so he ended up packing a bit more than he’d originally planned. Harry made his way through his living room to a cabinet that hadn’t been opened in far too long, quickly grabbing its contents and working them into the backpack.

+++

DRACO TUGGED at the hem of his shirt, suddenly too aware of how the clothes fell on him. _I hope these’ll work for whatever he has planned today_ , he thought as he reached forward to knock on Potter’s door. Potter hadn’t told him what he had planned for their day out, but Draco was beginning to get annoyed that Potter hadn’t _at least_ told him what to wear. The one thing Potter _had_ mentioned was going to some lake, so Draco assumed older clothes were the best choice, but as he stood before the large door waiting for it to open, he grew more and more agitated by the chance that he would be dressed poorly.

Just as Draco’s anxiety was tempting him to kick the nearest wall, the door swung open. Draco glanced up from the loose string he had been fiddling with on his sleeve and smiled at Potter’s contagious grin. “Did you sleep well after you made it up to your room?”

Potter shrugged his shoulders as he walked out of the house to join Draco, pulling the door shut behind him as he cast the wards on the door. “I suppose I did. Did you have a good night after you left?”

Draco pulled the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, at the same time trying to make the other corner of his mouth raise in a smirk. _He doesn’t need to know about your crummy apartment. Or that stupid nightmare,_ Draco assured himself. “Yeah, it went well. Well, as well as walking home alone in the dark can ever be,” Draco jested. Draco could have sworn he saw Potter’s facial expression falter for a second before returning to the same stupid, beaming smile.

Potter nodded. “Um…maybe it’s none of my business, but…from here on out, if you want to…ya’ know…have someone with you at night—for safety! Of course—then uh, I wouldn’t mind helping?”

Draco felt his eyebrows pull tighter together as he stared at Potter, attempting to piece together what he was hinting at. “Are you offering to walk me home every time I’m out after it gets dark?”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose I am. Follow me; the lake’s within walking distance. Sort of.”

Draco did his best not to snap at Potter about not needing his help all the damned time, but held his tongue, knowing that his snarky attitude was _definitely_ not the best defense in this situation. _I’m practically a grown man; I don’t need an escort. Potter doesn’t need to see my dump of an apartment._ “Thanks,” Draco offered, unsure of what else to say as he fell into step alongside Potter. After the thuds of their shoes on the cobblestone path started becoming uncomfortable to Draco’s ears, he asked, “So what do you have planned for us at this lake?”

Potter looked over at Draco as a smile spread across his face. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

“Potter, I swear to Merlin, I will rip that smirk off your face if you ever resort to such an awful cliché ever again.” Draco pushed as much humor into his tone as he could, wanting Potter to know he wasn’t actually upset.

A warm laugh resonated from Potter’s chest, and Draco couldn’t help but smile knowing that Harry— _Potter!_ Draco corrected himself. _When did I start thinking of him as “Harry”?_

“There’s a reason I’m an auror,” _Potter_ began, interrupting Draco’s thoughts. “I’m boring and bloody terrible at anything creative. So you’ll have to tolerate my awful clichés.”

Draco didn’t really know what to say to that. He could take a few different routes with the conversation, but quickly settled on the biggest gamble of them all: “They’re really not bad, Potter. And you’re not as boring as you think you are.” Draco’s heart fluttered a bit faster than usual as he provided the compliment, completely unsure of how Potter would take it.

Draco glanced over quickly and found a smile still on Potter’s face. “Oh really?” Potter questioned. “And what exactly have I done that’s not boring lately?”

 _Went to a gay strip club, for one,_ Draco thought puckishly. “Well, there’s the whole ‘movie’ thing.” Draco paused, noticing Harry’s head cock to the side.

“I don’t think _owning_ movies count as creative.” Draco couldn’t tell what Potter was thinking, his tone too flat for Draco to decipher any emotions.

“Well yes, I’ll give you that. But we’re talking about you not being boring. You’re a wizard, Potter; wizards don’t watch movies. I’m certain there’s an interesting story behind the muggle devices still being in your house.” Draco wasn’t sure if he was putting his foot in his mouth, or if this line of conversation was one that Harry was okay with. He hoped he wasn’t coming across as offensive, but he _was_ legitimately interested in Potter’s motivation to have the devices necessary to watch movies in his home.

Potter nodded, quiet for too long for Draco’s comfort, so Draco quickly added. “Setting that aside, you uh…you dress nice.”

Draco noticed that he clearly caught Potter’s attention with that compliment. “I dress nice?” Potter asked as they turned a corner. They were approaching the edge of the village, and the cobblestone was a lower quality. Large cracks ran through most of the stones, and many were shattered into smaller pieces from years of erosion.

Draco huffed out a quiet breath of laughter. “What’s this? The Chosen One turning to the measly Malfoy for compliments?”

Potter threw his fist out, playfully punching Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t be an arse,” he joked. “I just haven’t had many people comment on the way I dress.”

Draco threw a joking punch back, and if he intentionally hit a bit harder than Potter had, no one else had to know. “I think _you’re_ being the arse. Surely you’ve had people compliment you. I mean, the way you dress makes your ass—sets…look nice.” Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping the accidental flirtation wouldn’t be noticed, or at the very least, not scorned. If the look on Harry’s— _damn it, he’s Potter­_ —face was anything to go by, he had noticed it.

Draco waited for the inevitable “I’m not interested in you that way,” speech, but was surprised to find Potter still smiling when he direct his gaze back to look at him. Potter was being terribly quiet, gods damn him, so Draco searched through his thoughts for something else to add. “And the colors you choose usually look nice, too.” _Seriously, Draco? That’s what you come up with?_ “Much better than the tacky red and yellow you used to be so fond of, at least.” _Yeah, only making it worse as you speak,_ Draco chastised himself.

Harry laughed, “Well, at least my _scarlet_ and _gold_ didn’t look as bad as that awful green and silver you wore everywhere.”

Draco did his best not to smile at simply having Potter reply. “Potter, let’s be honest: Slytherin colors work _far_ better on clothes than Gryffindor colors. It’s just your ridiculous loyalty to that house that has you lying through your teeth right now, and you know it.”

Harry shrugged, “Maybe I am lying. Maybe I’m not. Regardless, we both know which house was the best.”

“Wow, did someone hex you? I think I heard you admitting that Slytherin is the best.”

Draco turned to Harry in time to see a _sinfully_ attractive, mischievous smile work its way across Potter’s face. “Well, we’re almost to the lake. We can see once and for all which house is really the best.”

Potter veered from the path, walking toward a thick line of trees that probably stretched into a forest, though it was difficult to tell from their distance. Draco scanned the trees for any sign of _something_ to mark the location for Potter, but no matter how hard he looked, he didn’t notice anything. “So we’re going in there?” Draco asked as he followed Potter.

Potter simply nodded his head as he walked through the large field leading toward the trees. The grass was overgrown, stretching up nearly to Draco’s knees. He was suddenly very grateful that he chose to wear long pants. As the two got closer to the trees, Potter began to slow his pace. He turned to look at Draco. When Draco met his gaze, he found the humor was gone.

“It’s only about a hundred feet from this side to the other where the lake is at,” Harry began, “but make sure you stay close to me. The forest wraps around to a much thicker patch in the back, and there are fairies that will intentionally disorient you and lead you farther in the woods. They usually never come to this side, but…,” Harry’s gaze quickly dropped down toward his feet before coming back up to meet Draco’s again. “Just be careful. They’re not dangerous, as long as you pay attention.”

Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Something about the heavy look in Harry’s eyes really bothered him; surely he didn’t have a story about this forest. But why else would he be so worried? Only minutes before, they had been joking like old friends. The contrast in Potter’s mood was troubling, without a doubt. But Potter just said it was relatively safe; there’s no way Potter would lead him into a dangerous situation. Surely?

Draco noticed a subtle shift in Potter’s countenance, his eyes suddenly looking softer. “I promise it’s nothing bad. I just…I brought Ron here once and he thought he saw an injured rabbit. I didn’t know about the faeries, so I hadn’t warned him, of course. He went to check on it without letting me know, and I didn’t realize he had stopped following me. By the time I made it to the edge a minute or two later and realized he wasn’t behind me, he was so far off track that it took me five hours to find the barmy fool drunk off his arse on some mead the fairies were giving him in the middle of a fairy ring. Scared me shitless, to be perfectly honest.”

“Oh,” Draco paused as he put together a decent response. “At least you found him safe, right? And you can’t really blame yourself.”

Potter nodded, “Yeah, you’re right. But, I _can_ blame myself if it happens again.” He shrugged, as if the gesture would somehow take the weight out of his tone.

Draco smiled, hoping it would help lift the mood. “Well, if it concerns you enough, I’ll let you hold my hand until we get to the other side.”

Harry laughed quietly. “Are you trying to imply I sound like a worrying mother?” He tried to feign a look of chastisement, but his smile diminished the effect. “Come on, there’s no sense in wasting the day standing in this grass.” Potter turned toward the forest, setting a fairly quick pace.

Draco followed closely behind, eyeing the tree line up ahead. The trees really weren’t that intimidating; the only bothersome quality was the density of the growth. Even as they approached, Draco couldn’t see the light shining through the trees from the other side. Regardless, the forest itself wasn’t particularly dark. There was just something about it that seemed _off_ , though Draco figured it was probably just Harry’s warnings that made his heart hammer harder at the thought of breaching the forest’s edge.

***

HARRY TOOK a deep breath in as he stepped from the grassy field into the forest. He really did despise the woods, though the gorgeous lake on the other side made the short trek through the growth worth it. _Assuming nothing happens_ , Harry added wistfully. The air in the forest always felt different from that of the rest of the world: at first it felt cool and relaxing, but it reeked of the scent of decay if one took the time to notice. The air itself felt stagnant, as if time even stood still within the woods. Perhaps it was this utter darkness that made the crystalline lake on the other side so splendid.

Harry pushed forward, going slower than he had been in the field. His body felt like it was pulsing with energy, the anticipation of Draco finally seeing Lochlass Lake setting Harry’s nerves on end. It really shouldn’t matter that much, but Draco’s life had evidently been lacking in good days lately, and Harry didn’t mind the idea of hopefully giving him a few more reasons to smile. Draco actually had a really nice smile; it was still the same smirk as back at Hogwarts, but now that it was the smile of a friend, Harry definitely liked it a lot more. And hopefully, when they finally made their way through the forest and got to the lake, he’d get to see it a lot more.

+++

DRACO DID his best to keep his eyes locked on Potter’s back. Surely it was just because of Harry’s warning—or maybe a slight flashback to the nightmare from last night—but Draco could have sworn it felt like the forest was closing in on him. He felt his heart racing as he tried to force himself to ignore the trees roots snaking across the ground that his mind was trying to convince him were moving. There were bizarre stone elements on either side of the path he and Harry were following, many of them looking like tall, standing vertical crystals of obsidian. Glowing lines of blue traced along the rocks at sharp, haphazard angles. Farther back from the tight path were short marble statues of grisly creatures that Draco didn’t know any names for. He had never heard of this place before, but he was beginning to wonder if there was some deeper history to this place that he should know about.

Draco was trying to decipher the features of the nearest stone statue so he could place a species name on it when he ran into Harry’s back. “Shit, sorry,” he mumbled as he stepped back a bit from Harry. He brushed his shirt off without thinking about it, but his hands slowed to a halt when he noticed the lake. “Fucking hell, that’s beautiful!” he practically sighed out. He _really_ wondered why he had never heard of this lake before. The grass extended about half a meter out from the forest before it started transitioning to a pebbled shoreline. The lake water was remarkably clear, the water almost entirely transparent. But there was an obvious blue tint to the water, and incredibly bright reflections as the sun reflected off the slight waves rippling across the crystalline surface.

Draco turned to look at Potter, only just realizing that his mouth had dropped open at some point. But he really didn’t care; the closest Draco had been to witnessing something of this beauty recently was the pulsing lights of the club, and they _obviously_ came nowhere close to this. Draco stared at Harry, completely lost for words.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Draco and smiled. “Do you like it?”

“Merlin’s beard; Potter, this place is beautiful!”

Potter nodded, his voice growing lighter and happier and he spoke. “Yeah, after everything with Voldemort was over, I came here just about every week trying to figure out what to do with my life.”

Draco walked past Potter and toward the shore line. “How did you even find it?” He heard Harry laugh from behind him.

“I was just practicing flying one day and happened to fly over. That’s really all there was to it.”

Draco couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the landscape before him. From this side, the forest surrounding them looked lush and lively, almost welcoming. About five hundred meters away to their left, the land swelled up from the flat shoreline to a large cliff, rising to about two hundred meters of grimy rock. There was a lot more space between the forest and the lake on that side. On the other side of the lake, about a hundred meters closer, the trees actually looked like they extended _into_ the water, though Draco tried not to question how they survived too much. He knew he didn’t understand the magic of this place, and to try to deduce answers where none could be found would be a waste of time. All that really mattered was that the scene was beautifully surreal, wildly surpassing any of Draco’s imaginings of what the lake he and Harry would be spending all day at would look like.

“Gods, Potter, this place is incredible. I just…do you know anything about it?” Draco looked back over his shoulder toward Harry, who was now standing no more than half a meter away, slightly off to Draco’s right.

Potter shook his head, an innocent look spreading across his face. “I honestly have no idea what this place is and have no clue about why it’s here. I mean, I found it on a map and it was named ‘Lochlass Lake,’ but otherwise, you know as much about it as me now.”

“But nothing bad has happened to you from being here?”

Harry shrugged. “Not that I have noticed.” He let out a quiet huff of laughter before continuing, “Well, I mean, this _was_ the place I first realized I might be a little interested in guys, and it was after a couple times of coming here before I realized it, but I doubt the lake somehow affected my sexual interests.”

Draco held his tongue, trying to ignore the temptation to learn more about Potter’s sexual interests. “So for all you know, this place is melting your mind into a useless sludge with all its beauty?”

Harry beamed before chirping out a quick, “Yup!” Harry pulled the backpack off his back and set it on the ground. “So are you finished admiring the beauty enough for a surprise?”

Draco eyed the backpack, then the lake, and then directed his attention to Potter’s eyes. “It depends on the surprise,” he said skeptically, his eyelids pulling closer together questioningly.

“Well, we need to decide which house is better, right?” Harry asked animatedly as he bent over to unzip the backpack. Draco assumed it was a rhetorical question and chose to remain silent as he watched Potter digging through the bag. “And we both enjoyed flying back at Hogwarts.” Draco felt his heart skip a beat or two, but made himself calm down, knowing he was probably jumping to conclusions too soon. “So I figured we could play a seekers’ duel,” Harry said exuberantly as he pulled two brooms out of the deceivingly small backpack. Draco’s heart began thrashing against his ribcage in excitement.

It had been years since he had last had the money or time to even bother with owning a broom. The one Potter was offering to him now—though age-worn—was one of the most beautiful sights he had seen, possibly even surpassing the beauty of Lochlass. His mouth curled up into one of the biggest smiles he had allowed himself to wear in recent times. He reached for the broom, admiring the detail in it. It had a sleek, dark cherry handle with beautiful detail work in gold leaf that practically looked like it was flowing along the handle down toward the head like a miniature river. Draco looked up from the broom in his hand to see Harry holding a small box.

“So what do you say? First one to catch the snitch proves which house is the best?”

When Draco began to speak, he could practically hear the smile in his tone. “Yeah. Sounds great!”

Harry flipped the box open and unlatched a leather cord that was stretched across the snitch. The golden sphere quickly spread its wings and took flight. Harry dropped the box and mounted his broom. “Ready?”

Draco mounted the broom Potter had lent him and nodded. “On your mark.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. Draco leaned forward a bit, preparing himself to kick off the ground so he could start with the most speed. “Go!” At Potter’s signal, he snapped his legs up, pushing himself off the ground as quickly as possible while leaning forward onto his broom. He was tempted to let himself lose focus and just enjoy the air pulling across his face, but he was jolted back to the game when Potter zipped by him. Draco had no idea where the snitch had gone in the last few seconds, but staying ahead of Potter was probably his best bet at securing a win.

 He leaned forward even more, willing his broom to pick up speed. It was a nice broom, managing to keep up with Potter’s. Draco scanned the tree line for any golden blurs. Harry jolted forward, yet again passing Draco as the two simply raced around the lake until either could spot the snitch. As they approached the far edge of the lake, Draco threw his weight to the left, coaxing his broom to quickly strafe to the side into a roll where he could quickly turn around and begin making his way back along the rim in hopes of spotting the snitch. Harry quickly lunged to the right, closely mirroring Draco’s maneuver. The two continued to tumble and fall around each other, showing off as they both watched for any signs of movement. Draco couldn’t help but chuckle as Harry tried to pull off a particularly difficult loop and roll combination and nearly made himself slip from his broom. Draco tried to copy the movement, first letting the nose of the broom fall forward, his head angled almost straight down toward the lake. He picked up considerable speed before rotating his broom and coming up into a loop, only to stop halfway up and roll his broom so he was upright again.

It wasn’t his fault that he shot a mischievous smile at Harry after managing to pull off the maneuver without a flaw. Harry had stopped flying, choosing to hover in the air as Draco approached him. Draco slowed to a stop beside Harry, making sure he kept his eyes active in the search for the snitch.

“You still trying to show me up at my own games?” Pottery joked.

Draco shrugged. “I think I did a little more than _try_ to show you up.”

“Well, just wait until I catch the snitch, then we’ll see who shows who up!”

Draco smirked wide enough to flash some of his teeth. “Indeed we will. What do you say loser fixes supper tonight?”

Harry nodded, opening his mouth to say something. He stayed silent as his eyes grew wide.

 _He saw it._ Before Harry quite had time to thrust forward, Draco pulled the handle of his broom, coaxing the broom to flip over. He hugged himself tightly to the broom as it dashed forward in the direction Potter had been looking. As he willed to broom to push its limits, Draco began to roll so that he was on top of the broom again. As his vision blurred from the roll, he noticed a splotch of gold near the far tree line. Potter was right beside him the entire time, but Draco was managing to will his broom to go barely faster than Harry’s. Regardless, catching the snitch would simply come down to who outmaneuvered whom at this rate.

Draco kept his eyes glued to the snitch as best as possible, though the little thing seemed particularly fond of zipping back and forth at the most random times. They were all quickly approaching the tree line, the boys both growing ever closer. Potter began pushing his hand out, the snitch no more than an arm’s length away. But the tree line was too close. They both pursued the snitch until the last moment when they _had_ to tumble away to keep from colliding with the massive trunks. To Draco’s delight, he had accidentally managed to roll in the same direction the snitch happened to go. Harry was close behind, the nose of his broom already in line with the end of Draco’s, but Draco pushed more than ever before, trying to force the broom to go as fast as it possibly could. _Come on! It’s right there! I can nearly grab it!_ Draco began reaching out again, Harry only getting closer with each passing moment. _Please don’t move! Just keep flying straight, you little bugger!_ As Draco went to grab the snitch, it tried to zip off to the right, but he just barely managed to grab it by the wing, right before it flew directly into Potter’s hand. He wrapped his fingers around the gold body and threw his arms up in celebration.

He loud out a loud cheer as he slowed to a stop, not caring if anyone heard him. His face stung from the wind biting at it, and every muscle in his body ached from the long overdue workout, but most importantly, his mouth hurt from smiling so widely. He looked over to Potter, who was sitting on his own broom beside him, shaking his head and he chuckled. “That was dumb luck, and you know it,” Potter said as his gaze met Draco’s.

“Is Potter upset that someone finally managed to catch the snitch before he did?” Draco tightened his fingers around the golden sphere, still amazed that it was in his hands.

“Nah. I’m just upset that I’ll be cooking His Majesty’s dinner again.”

“Oh, don’t flatter me, Potter. You can simply refer to me as ‘King.’”

Potter let out another breathy laugh. “Yeah, and you can kiss my arse.”

“Not if I kick it first!” Draco made a face as he realized that he retort didn’t sound even half as clever as it had in his head.

“Okay, Draco. I’ll give you this one! You kicked my ass; you won. Slytherin’s the best, and I’ll make you supper tonight.” Draco jokingly punched Harry’s shoulder as he rolled his eyes.

“Admit it Potter: this is the first time you’ve not caught the snitch and you’re a sore loser.”

Harry shrugged as he turned his broom to face the nearest shoreline, which happened to be the cliff Draco had noticed earlier. “I’m not a sore loser; just sore. And hungry. We should grab some food.”

Draco nodded and began slowly flying off toward the cliff, following Harry. Harry landed first, and turned to face Draco. As Draco approached the land, he stopped and dismounted, his feet only centimeters from the edge.

Harry flicked his hand toward where they had taken off from at the start of their duel, and his backpack and the small box the snitch had been in started flying toward his outstretched hand. _Silent summoning charm_ , Draco thought.

Potter looked back toward Draco, who had yet to move from where he landed. “So I, uh, I had no idea what you like to eat, so I just packed a bit of every lunch food and snack I had in the house. There’s some fruit in there somewhere too.”

Draco nodded. “Thanks. I’ll eat just about anything, as long as it’s not blood pudding.” Draco shifted his weight, and felt his heart skip as the earth beneath his right foot began to slip. Time felt like it slowed to a near halt as he threw his arms out trying to regain his balance. _Fuck! Why did I stand so close to the bloody edge!_ Draco’s heart slammed against his ribs like a rabid beast trapped in a cage as he felt his body weight falling backward. Before he realized what was happening, a hand had wrapped around his own and was jerking him forward, away from the edge of the cliff. His breath was nearly knocked out of him as his body slammed into Potter’s. As Draco’s body hurtled toward Harry, he had wrapped his arm around Draco while his other arm still gripped his hand.

Draco felt the muscles in his body trembling from the adrenaline flooding through his body, but he was almost too shocked by the events to even notice. He simply dropped his head onto Harry’s shoulder and tried to take deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth to prevent himself from falling into an anxiety attack. As his heart calmed, he suddenly grew aware of the large hand smoothing circles along his back. At some point, Potter had turned his head downward, so that his nose was buried in Draco’s short hair, and the breath from his mouth was teasing the skin just behind Draco’s temple.

Draco realized that Potter had been mumbling something for the last minute. “It’s okay, Draco. It’s okay.” Draco pulled his head back just enough to turn his head upward, trying to look into Potter’s eyes, not quite willing to break any more of their contact just yet. Potter hadn’t moved his head, and as Draco’s gaze locked with Potter’s, he felt Potter’s humid exhales ghost over his own lips. Draco didn’t say anything, completely unable to think of the right words. He licked his lips as he tried to think of an appropriate response, but his mind shut down as he watched Harry’s gaze fall to his lips. Draco’s heart began to beat with more intensity again, completely unsure of what was going on. His mouth felt warm. Draco cursed his mind as he had to blink again to realize Harry’s mouth was against his. Draco slid his eyes shut, leaning into the pressure of the kiss. The two stood, their lips simply pressed together for a few seconds. “Harry,” Draco moaned quietly as Harry pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been edited nor beta'd. I prefer to write out my fics then go back and edit, so please forgive any awful errors you find.


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